“Optio Pullus.”
You could have heard a gnat fart in the silence that followed, and there was a roaring in my ears as for a horrified moment I thought I was going to faint. Immediately following this was the stirring of anger; I was sure that these fine gentlemen decided to have some fun at my expense. Of course, why they would pick me out of the 35,000 people in the army to choose from was not something I put any thought into, all I was sure of was that I was the butt of their joke. My surprise was evident to all, yet only Caesar seemed able to tell what I suspected.
“No, he's not joking Pullus. I know that this is somewhat unusual, that normally if you were promoted to Centurionate rank that you would be made a Junior Centurion and serve in the Tenth Cohort, or perhaps the Ninth. But it's not unheard of, and given the high casualty rate among the Centurions, when we looked at a list of candidates, your name was at the top of the list.”
Before I could respond, Caesar added, “That’s not to say that everyone,” and he looked over at Labienus, who was still fuming, “agreed. But I saw what you did when Vercingetorix’s men tried to breach the wall. You fought like ten men, and that's what convinced me that I'm making the right choice.”
Because I was not sure what the proper response should be, the best I could manage was, “Thank you sir, I won’t let you down.”
“You’d better not, or I'll never hear the end of it from Labienus,” Caesar replied mildly. He stood then, and offered his hand.
“Congratulations, Pilus Prior Pullus.”
Leaving the Praetorium in a daze, I found Crastinus standing there waiting for me, his earlier reserve gone, a broad smile on his leathery face.
He slapped me on the back, exclaiming, “Congratulations you big bastard.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew,” he shot back somewhat huffily, “I was asked my opinion on the matter. I saw the list of candidates they had drawn up.”
“And you thought I was the best one?” I asked half in astonishment, half in hope.
“Nah. I just figured that you couldn’t fuck it up any worse than the other cunni on the list.”
I had to laugh at that, but a pit was forming in my stomach. I was now the senior Centurion of the Second Cohort, and although I knew I was respected, having been in the army almost ten years, I was still only twenty-five. There were men much more senior than I who had just been passed over. The thought of their reaction dampened my enthusiasm like a sudden rainstorm, and Crastinus saw my glum face.
Growing serious, he said quietly, “I won’t lie, Pullus. It’s not going to be easy. This is going to piss a lot of the boys off, particularly the other men on the list. That’s one reason it was so hush-hush; I think Caesar always planned on picking you but didn’t want to create a storm of cac flying and get men riled up enough that he couldn’t promote you without it being a big problem. Now,” he mused, “he’s dodged a javelin by just doing it. You’re the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”
“Thanks, I feel better already,” I replied sarcastically, drawing a barking laugh.
“I’m not here to provide sympathy boy. But I'll do what I can to help. Mostly though, it’s going to be up to you. You’re going to have to prove to everyone that you’re worthy of the promotion.”
We were walking to the quartermaster’s tent to draw the crest I would need to affix to my helmet, along with some of the other extra gear that the rank provides. The first the Century would know I was now their Pilus Prior would be when I showed up wearing the crest; I already carried a vitus, although that was later abolished for Optios. There would be a formal promotion ceremony, but that was done all at once, in front of the whole army. Before that happened, I first had to call a meeting of the Centurions of the Cohort, followed by a meeting of the Cohort itself. My mind was racing with all the things there were to do, so I missed what Crastinus said, prompting him to call me by name. I looked at him, and he shook his head in mock seriousness.
“Not a very good start, ignoring your Primus Pilus.”
“Sorry, Primus Pilus Crastinus,” I admit to a bit of apple-polishing in addressing him by his full rank, since I knew that he had not heard himself called by that much as of yet, and I could tell it pleased him.
“I was saying, for whatever it’s worth, I know you can do it Pullus. And I’ll help you any way I can.”
I looked at him in gratitude, then unbidden my mind raced back almost ten years before when I hated this man to the soles of his boots, marveling at how far I had come.
Approaching the Century area, the men were lounging by the fire, and they looked up as one of them automatically called out that senior Centurions were approaching. They all immediately popped up to stand at intente before any of them noticed that something was different, and I am sure their first thought was something like, “Here comes the new Pilus Prior. By the gods, he’s as big as Pullus.”
It was a few heartbeats after that before there was a registering of the fact that not only did the new Pilus Prior look like me, it was indeed me in the flesh. Even at their position of intente, I was heartened to see smiles creeping across the men’s face as they realized what it meant.
A knot in my throat started to form, then the Primus Pilus’ voice cracked out, stopping the moment. “What are you cunni smiling at like drooling idiots? Haven’t you ever seen a Pilus Prior before?”
He looked at me and said sternly, “I apologize Pilus Prior Pullus,” giving my new title and name a boost in volume so that everyone not in eyesight could hear the news, “your new command seems to be composed of imbeciles and lunatics. I don’t know who trained this lot, but they should be dismissed from the eagles immediately.”
Of course, this was all in jest, since it was Crastinus himself who trained this very Century and was our first Pilus Prior. Now they were on their fourth, and if I was not so happy it would have been a sobering thought. Only one was promoted, and he stood before us. One was forced to retire while the other died, not exactly reassuring odds. But there was a saying; if you wanted to live a long life, why did you join the Legions? Live hard, die young and leave a good looking corpse behind for cremation was how most of us looked at things. Very few of my comrades thought seriously about the future the way I did, and I have often wondered what role this played in my survival through so many battles. My side was aching, meaning I was still not quite up to doing anything strenuous, but I had survived yet again and I made a mental note to find some way to properly thank the gods with an appropriate offering. The Primus Pilus left me with the men, and immediately after I gave them the command to return to their prior attitudes, they came bounding to me, offering their congratulations. I wanted to think that most of them were sincere, but I was smart enough to know that a fair number of them were merely trying to grease the wheels in the event that they fell afoul of me at some point down the road. Just when I was about to get upset, I thought wryly, why should I, it’s exactly what I would have done, and I think one of the keys to my success in many areas was that I never lost sight of what it meant to be a Gregarius. During my career, I saw too many Centurions who underwent some sort of transformation, thinking that suddenly because they were no longer in the ranks and had their own latrine, their cac did not smell the same as the rest of the men. The men whose reaction I was most anxious to gauge were of course my former tentmates, particularly Vibius, because I was now two ranks ahead of him. Then I realized with a sudden thrill that now that the spot of Optio was open I could appoint who I wanted, provided they were sufficiently senior, which Vibius certainly was, and of the appropriate rank, which he was as well. Just as suddenly, however, my stomach twisted as I was hit by the recognition that because I was already operating at a disadvantage, with the Centurions under me watching every move I made like a hawk, there was no real way I could make Vibius my Optio. It would not matter whether he was qualified or not, his promotion would cause jealousy, making it as close to guaranteed as possible that whispers of favoritism passed from one fire to another. I felt like I was dashed by cold water, even as I went through the motions of accepting the congratulations from the men, agonizing over how to tell Vibius. The fact that I had not even brought the subject up with him but was already worried about how he would react at being passed over shows how entrenched in my own viewpoint I was back in those days. It never occurred to me that perhaps Vibius did not want to be Optio; because of my own ambitions, I naturally assumed that others shared the same goals. Luckily, for both of us I think, once I did broach the subject with Vibius, he instantly threw up his hands in horror at the thought of being considered for Optio.